melworks

Sometimes, pain is the answer.
The slap of the belt.
The cut of the knife.
Bringing things into focus,
defining your life.

Sometimes, pain is the answer
at the end of the day.
When work's ground you down,
when family's a burden,
you wish would go away.

Sometimes, pain is the answer.

Gotham City was a hell of neon lights and smog. Jones stood at his hotel window, staring through the glass at the street. He could see cars creeping along and pedestrians on the street, many of them wearing what appeared to be gas masks. He shook his head and pulled the curtains closed, returned to the bed. The television was on, but muted, tuned to a news channel. A man with a bad spray tan and a worse toupe was commenting on some kind of military incident in Eastern Europe. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen read: Russian troops massing on Markovian border.
Jones flipped through the channels until he found a local station. They were showing a sit-com that looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember the name. He left it there and reached for the wallet the Flash had given him.
Batman had provided him with a driver's license, a debit card and about a hundred bucks in cash. The money didn't look quite right to Jones. The bills came in different shades of green, with higher denominations being paler. At least the faces on the money were identical to cash back home.
The Flash and Batman had dumped him here while they figured out something longterm. Jones wasn't sure what that meant, but he was glad to be out of STAR Labs. The scientist who had examined him, Professor Palmer, had been a little creepy.
The Flash had said she would check up on him tomorrow. Batman had just said he'd keep an eye on him and that he'd be in touch.
The hotel room was paid for through the week, and there was about a thousand on the debit card. The driver's license looked like the real thing, but Batman had warned him not to get arrested. He'd put together the identity on short notice and until he could firm it up, it probably wouldn't stand up to closer scrutiny.
Jones had no intention of getting arrested. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave the hotel room. Gotham City was scary as hell, by night. He couldn't imagine it being much better during the day.
On the television, the sit-com gave way to the local news.
Markovia was the lead story, followed by coverage of something called the War of Faces. Apparently, Clayface and Two-Face were trying to kill each other and each had recruited a bunch of local villains to their respective sides.
Crazy, thought Jones, and turned off the television. He switched off the lights, stripped to his shorts and crawled beneath the bedclothes.
He felt far from home and he was beginning to suspect that he was deeply out of his depth.
* * * * *
Byron Wayne didn't bother trying to be stealthy as he entered his bedroom, halfway across Gotham. He knew better than to even try.
"You're home early," said Georgina. She was sitting up in bed, glasses resting on the tip of her nose, a copy of Dostoyevski's 'The Idiot' in her lap. "I thought you'd be out for hours still, trying to track down the faces."
Byron slid into bed. "The police can handle that for the moment. Something else came up."
"What?" asked Georgina. She put her book on the bedside table and turned off the lamp.
He told her about Jones. She listened without asking any questions, but Byron knew her mind was awhirl with thoughts. He could tell by the slightly unfocused look in her eyes.
"You think he could be a danger," said Georgina.
"I think it's best to plan for the worse," said Byron.
"Of course," agreed Georgina. "That makes sense. But maybe you should ask the princess to speak with him."
"I'm considering it," admitted Byron. "I'd rather handle this on my own. Bad enough the Flash is involved."
"You don't live in a vacuum, darling," said Georgina. She slid closer to him, lay her head on his chest. "And there's no shame in letting the rest of the League shoulder some of the burden."
Byron grunted, but said nothing.
They fell asleep like that, Georgina's head on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her.
* * * * *
The Tower occupied a lonely stretch of Maine coastline, close to the Canadian border. Officially, it was a decommissioned lighthouse, purchased and refurbished by Orion Luthor as an exotic retreat. Unofficially, it was the headquarters of the Justice League.
The Flash stepped into the Tower and waited, impatiently, for the security system to authenticate her identity. Once she had been given the green light, she raced down the stairs to the command center. At the moment, Green Arrow was on monitor duty. He was sitting with his feet up on the console, hands folded over his stomach, eyes closed to narrow slits.
"Hey! No catnapping on duty!" chided the Flash.
Green Arrow didn't move at all, as he said, "I'm not asleep."
"Could have fooled me," said the Flash. She leaned against the console. "Anything going on?"
"Nothing. Keeping an eye on Markovia, but that's it."
"You think the Russians will invade?" asked the Flash.
"If they do, they'll regret it. The Markovian Royals will kick their asses back to Moscow."
"You think?"
Green Arrow opened his eyes and snorted. "Yeah. All that?" He waved at the news screens. "It's just a show."
"I hope you're right," said the Flash.
"What about you?" asked Green Arrow. He lowered his feet and stretched. "What have you been up to tonight?"
"I met a man from another universe," said the Flash.
"Really? Tell me everything."
She did.
"And Batman's got him staying in Gotham?" asked Green Arrow.
"He insisted. You know how he is."
Green Arrow nodded. "What do you think he's going to do with him? Longterm, I mean."
"I don't know," admitted the Flash.
"You think Jones is on the up-and-up?"
"I think so. The Bat's probably thinking up a dozen ways to find out for sure."
"He should talk to the princess. Get her to do her lasso thing."
"If he does want to do that, you can go with him. Not me."
"You afraid of her?" asked Green Arrow, grinning.
"She gives me the creeps," admitted the Flash. "I can't stand that cult of hers."
"I don't know if it's a cult. . . ."
"It's a cult," said the Flash, firmly. "Trust me."
Green Arrow shrugged. "Whatever. You wanna hang out?"
"I should get home. I've got work tomorrow and I promised Jones I'd check up on him."
"Hmm. Tell the Bat if he wants to visit the princess, I'll go with him."
"Sure," said the Flash. "Later."
She was gone before Green Arrow could draw breath to say goodbye. He shrugged again and resumed his original position, feet on the console, eyes half-closed.

Standing in the crowd,
listening to the band,
this is youth, this is life,
this is wonderland.

Sliding down the rabbit hole,
riding crystal trails,
wondering where we’ll end up,
and whether we will fail.

Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.

The crystal cracks,
we all go splat,
the world so gigantic,
now seems small.

So take a hit
from the hookah pipe,
and rest beneath a mushroom sky,
and watch your life become a lie.

Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.

The smoke clears, we prick our ears,
we wait and watch and learn,
this life’s a dream, or so it seems,
a lesson we never learn.

The white rabbit runs,
our end’s begun,
the world returns again.

Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.

The crowd is gone.
The band is done.
We stand still,
while the rabbit runs.

We never found the Queen of Hearts,
just a lot of bitter tarts,
and youth is gone, spent and torn,
and from the ruins a man is born.

Falling into Wonderland,
searching for the Queen of Hearts,
wondering if this is life,
or just another false start.

The sun does not shine past the trees.
The ground is dark, the domain of night.
And we stand in that darkness, looking up,
hungry for a glimpse of light.
Light that never comes, until the wind blows.
Branches sway and bend, and the long night gives way
to an oh too brief dawn.
Then the wind moves on, the branches grow still.
Endless night returns and we return to our vigil,
waiting for a glimpse of light.

Holy shit. Has it really been a month since my last post here? Good lord!
Well, let's see what's been going on.
The landlords both got jobs. Misses went to Chicago with the kids a couple of weeks ago and Mister is leaving next week. I am driving him to the airport. I am also going to be renting out rooms in the house as long as I'm here. How long that will be? I don't know.
Work has been good. I'm still enjoying working in the shop, although I need to get better shoes. My feet are killing me. Some people have recommended I get some NewBalance shoes, while others pimp Birkenstocks. Any opinions? Hit me up in comments.
Writing? Eh. It hasn't really been happening. I like to say it's job exhaustion but the fact is I've written a lot of false starts and none of them have gone anywhere. Still, I'm plugging away.
Speaking of the job, I'm going to be giving a talk on comics and literacy at a local library later this month. It's an all ages talk, and I need to check with the librarian handling the matter, but I'm quite looking forward to doing it. That said, if anyone has any ideas re this subject I'm more than open to suggestions.
Househunting continues to be frustrating. I have expanded my search to include condos and townhouses, but, so far, no luck. The market here is really sucky, at least in my price range.
So, there we have it. A month caught up in less than five minutes. Now I"m going to hit the flist and catch up with what everyone else has been up to. - xoxo Mel

So, I've finished my second novel, a fantasy with a rather cumbersome title. 
Actually, I finished it a few days ago and have been working on edits and read-throughs.
I am babying the fuck out of this one, people. 
Why?
Because it was a holy terror to finish.
Normally, when I write, it just flows.  But this one? This one came in fits and starts, shuddering forward and then lumbering to a stop. There were times when I wanted to delete the file.  There were other times when I wanted to pick up my laptop and hurl it out the window.
Even as I was writing it, the story squirmed and twisted. Nothing new there, that happens with everything that I write, but this time? This time it just felt malicious, like the story didn't want to be finished.
Initially, this story was my rest piece, my alternative to The Sequel.  I often referred to it as The Other Story. Soon, though, it became the Only Story.  I couldn't get The Sequel into gear because this story was devouring my brain.
Writing this thing became less an act of creation and more a contest of endurance, a test of will.  Overall, it was a bloody pain in the ass.
You know I'm having problems when I talk about the details of a story.  I never talk about what I'm writing on except in the vaguest terms.  But the other week, while visiting my Mom, I sat down and expressed my frustration with the story.  She asked what it was about, which led me to sit in her living room and just sit there and tell her the entire fucking story.  I never do that, but this story is the first one I've written that has made me seriously doubt myself.
However, it's done now.  Finished.  I've done two read-throughs and finished my edit. This Monday, I submit it to my new Editrix, and while she's going over it, I shall be considering cover art.
God willing, I'll have the damned thing online at Amazon before the Xmas season.
Wish me luck. - MEL

( Who's Who? )


( What's what? )
When you write a crossover fic like Fringes:One of Those Days, cannon takes a beating.  The fic is set roughly in the first season of Fringe, before the discovery of the other universe and before Peter and Olivia began their relationship.  That explains why Peter is so flirty with Uhura.
Uhura, as noted above, is from Star Trek: The Original Series.  Not NuTrek.  How did she become one of the Doctor's companions? Her backstory is sort of tragic. When the Star Trek timeline was jiggered by Nero & Spock, the F:OTD Uhura was shook loose from time and discovered by the Doctor.  She is basically a living, breathing paradox.
Tony Newman's history is just as tragic. At the end of The Time Tunnel, Newman and his friend, Doug Phillips, were stranded on the S.S. Titanic, at the same time and place of their first jaunt using the Time Tunnel.  The two became trapped in a closed temporal loop.  Trapped on the doomed ship, untouched by time, Newman spent forty years subjectively working out complex multidimensional equations in his head to find a way out.  His efforts attracted the attention of the Doctor who rescued him. The fate of Doug Phillips remains unknown, but Tony is a bit 'fragile' in F:OTD, suffering from bouts of severe agoraphobia.  I imagine he's not too fond of cruises either.
UNIT, in F:OTD, has become the dominant international organization responding to extragovernmental threats and general wierdness. As such they have absorbed a number of other organizations into themselves, including U.N.C.L.E.  This explains how Napoleon Solo is working for UNIT as head of their North American Division.
Speaking of Napoleon Solo, in F:OTD, he is older and more battered.  His history is also a bit more colorful, as he and the Doctor know each other and seem to have a cordial relationship of sorts.
I took the biggest liberties, I feel, with Professor Arturo.  In Sliders, Arturo becomes one of the quartet of adventurers wandering from one parallel Earth to another.  In F:OTD, that didn't happen. In his unrevealed backstory, our Arturo investigated the disappearance of Quinn Malory and discovered Malory's notes on sliding.  When Malory never reappeared, Arturo took the notes and cobbled together his machine, trying to access other dimensions.  Unfortunately, things went a bit pear-shaped for the professor.
Which leads us to the question of the breach.  Was it a result of Arturo not quite understanding Malory's notes? Or, was it caused by some outside influence? The Other Universe, perhaps, from Fringe?  Maybe the Kromaggs from Sliders were involved? Could it have been one of the Doctor's enemies?  Perhaps it was the chaos-mage, Ethan Raynes, working under the auspices of the Black Guardian? Perhaps the Lovecraftian horrors from the Dungeon Dimensions were trying to break out?
The world may never know.

I went back and decided to combine all the chapters of Fringes: One of Those Days into one easy-peasy post.  That will be the next thing that I post.  I figure it'll be more convenient for people who want to actually read the thing. :)